The Jellicle Games
by Cocobutterrox
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic junkyard ruled by Macavity, Rumpleteazer must fight for her life in the new Jellicle Games, where the Jellicles are forced to slay one another in order to gain freedom and riches. But only one cat can remain standing in the end. *Inspired by the Hunger Games/Battle Royale.
1. A Dreadful Announcement

**A/N: Hey, I finally got up to publishing a new chapter-story. I recently reread the Hunger Games and inspiration just struck, so I hope you enjoy! And just saying, this was INSPIRED by the Hunger Games, not exactly like it, or else everybody would know what would happen. But I hope it's exciting :D You also don't have to read the book to get what's going on.**

**A few notes before you start: You will find out that I absolutely CANNOT write in a Cockney accent...I'm so sorry if you can't understand what I wrote. Everytime you see something like "a'e" or "you'e", the apostrophe is where the silent "r" is supposed to be. Also, to make it more realistic, I added a couple Cockney Slang terms here and there. I'll explain what those mean in the end, because I'm talking way too much now :p Anyway, I hope you like it! **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cats: the musical, and I don't own The Hunger Games.**

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"Attention: All Jellicles, report to the clearing immediately. To the clearing."

The murmurs of the cats from their dens buzzes across the junkyard: "What could he want?" "What is it now?" "Haven't we worked enough for one day?"

Before any cat can answer, the Mystery Cat's voice bellows over the speaker, "Now!"

You can practically hear every groan resonate through the tribe's yard as we reluctantly drag ourselves out from under out cotton blankets. My dear fourteen-year old younger sister, Jemima, is still curled up in a petite ball under her small blanket in order to have it cover her entire shivering body. I pad over to the sleeping queen and gently shake her awake.

"Oy, Jem," I say. "Toime to get up."

I can't help but smile when her wide, innocent eyes begin to flutter open. "Teazer?" Jemima rubs her eyes to get a clear image of me. "Good morning. Why are you up so early?"

"Mac's collin' us to the clearing," I explain. "Don' wanna maike 'im mad, do ya?" I tickle her stomach, making her giggle and push me away. "C'mon, now. Let's not keep 'im waiting." Taking Jemima's small paw in mine, I lead her out of our den into the blinding morning light. The paws of other Jellicles scuff against the dirt ground as we make our way to the clearing, where our new leader, Macavity, will most likely be giving us another unpleasant announcement. Last time we were called to the clearing, the Monster of Depravity commanded us to give away all our prized possessions to him, but if "the jewelry isn't lavish enough" or if the object "doesn't cause enough sentimental distress when given away", you were immediately shocked to death by lightning in front of the entire tribe, including the kittens.

Luckily none of us died that month.

Over the course of five months under Macavity's control, one Jellicle had been slaughtered. That poor tom was just a kitten—a new member of the tribe whom was found and raised by Munkustrap and Demeter. The tomkit, Achates, was only of ten years when Macavity had summoned us Jellicles to the clearing, only to be told that the youngest of the tribe would have to be sacrificed for Mac's own sadistic pleasure.

We still can't sleep at night.

Ever since Macavity had successfully overthrown Old Deuteronomy just six months after the most recent Jellicle Ball, we can barely keep our eyes shut throughout the night, afraid that Macavity will appear in our dreams or sneak ino our dens for a good scare. During the day, however, our eyelids are begging to close, but if they do—even for a split-second—Macavity will give us a severe whipping for sure. From dawn to dusk, six days a week, we go about our duties without any complaints. Every Jellicle has been assigned a job to serve the Jellicle tribe—or to serve Macavity, really. At the young age of sixteen, I am forced to hunt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the Napoleon of Crime. Althougth the risk for getting him angry is extremely great with my task, I am aware that my assignment is not the worst. Most often the adults receive the toughest, most laborious jobs. As for my little sister, Jemima must sing for Macavity for hours on end, while her best friend Victoria is not allowed to stop dancing until she is told to. Poor Etcy and Electra must act as Macavity's servants for nearly the entire day, fetching for him all his wants until he is at least mildly content. To put it simply, life is hard for all of us Jellicles. But with the support of each other, somehow—somehow—we are able to scrape by.

"Teazer, look," Jemima says, pointing at the center of the clearing. There is the Hidden Paw himself, standing oh-so-regally with a ring of frail Jellicles surrounding him. His height and flaming ginger fur only adds to his superiority.

"'ey, waiy to ruin me Sundaiy, Mac," I call out. I'm really only cheeky for Jemima's sake. I don't want her to take life too seriously, even when Macavity is watching your every move. Just as I hoped, Jemima titters into her paw and ducks her head down to avoid making eye contact with the yellow-eyed beast.

"Don't sass me," Macavity sneers back. I chuckle in return. Seeing Macavity all day nearly every day has given me the chance to see him as a real feline. That is my goal for the month: to find one nice thing about Macavity. The month's almost over and I've gotten nothing so far.

Macavity shoots a bolt of lightning up into the pale sky to gain everyone's attention. "Listen up, pollicles. I have exciting news for today."

_Oh, please_, I think. _Excoitin' foh you, maiybe. Foh us probablaiy immediate death._

"Since life at the junkyard has been rather uninteresting recently—"

"What, all those sacrifices we have made for you aren't enough?" Tugger shouts from the crowd.

"Shut. Up." The ginger tom death-glares his brother, ultimately silencing the Maine Coon. "Thank you. As I was saying, I am pleased to announce the start of a new game right here in our very own tribe's home."

"Really?" Etcetera squeals, jumping up and down with Electra. "What game? What game? Is it fun?"

"Fun for me, perhaps," Macavity responds with a sinister smile playing on his lips. The two kittens immediately stop hopping happily and instead share a nervous look with each other.

Jemima looks up at me through her thick eyelashes and inquires, "What does he mean by that, Teaze?"

"It can't be anyfin' too bad," I try to assure her, but Jem isn't dumb. She knows the difference between a Porkie Pie and a truth.

"The Jellicle Games may last days, weeks, months even. It all depends on how easily you can betray each other."

This last sentence sparks an uproar among the Jellicles. Jemima hugs my arm tight, and I try to stay strong for her, but inside I'm trembling like mad.

"Quiet, quiet," Macavity settles us down. "Confused?" We all nod our heads like good little kittens. "I thought so. In the Jellicle Games, there is only one winner, and that shall be the one feline, tom or queen, who is able to stay alive through the brutal fighting."

"Who are we fighting?" Victoria pipes up with her head cocked to the side.

The carroty tom's cackle thunders through the entire city of London. A cat can't help but flinch at the sound. "Ah, my dear queen, each other is who. Or are you Jellicles even to weak to fight your own kind?" More booming laughter.

"Excuse mai," I interrupt his neverending snickers, "but exactly wot will dis accomplish? You'e 'avin' us woipe out ou' enti'e populaition? Wot good will dat do?"

All my fellow Jellicles around me holler words of agreement, arguing about how ridiculous his idea is. In just a few moments, our angry shouts turn into a collective growl directed at the Napoleon of Crime.

"The object of the game is simple," Macavity continues, completely ignoring our cross comments. "Your goal is to survive. To kill or be killed. You will have no choice but to fight your very own friends, for, if you don't, I will." His creepy grin completed the threat. "If I see that anyone is not participating, I will be sure to grant them a slow and painful death. It will be impossible to climb over the fence and escape; I have already set up a force field around the perimeter of the junkyard. No food will be provided; you must hunt for yourselves. You will be given a variety of weapons to choose from, though, but you will have to fight for them. We will have a few days of training, but that is all. And then this junkyard is your arena, every Jellicle your enemy and threat."

"'Ey, Mac!" Mungojerrie yelled. "Ya reallaiy expect us to kill ou' friends and familaiy? Whoiy would we evah do such a fing?"

"Because," the ginger cat hissed back, "the winner—the only Jellicle alive—is rewarded with a grand prize."

He pauses for dramatic effect. _Oh, Evahlasting Cat. _"Expaaaaaand…" I urge him to continue.

"The prize," Macavity says, "is enough food, money, and freedom to allow you to leave the boundaries of the junkyard and explore the world, find a mate, and live a joyful life. How does that sound?"

"Rumpleteazer, can you imagine that?" Jemima says with wide eyes. "We can live with a human who can take good care of us!"

"Oi fink you'e missin' the point 'ere, Jem," I reply. "Mac is wonting us to _muhdah_ each uhvah in ohdah to get dis so-cohlled 'proize'."

"You shall train on your own time. I have left suitable weapons for each of you in your dens. They will be taken away from you in just a matter of days, so I expect you _all_ to begin training _now_." Macavity glares at the kittens around him. His eyes fall on me as well, and I can't help but shudder a bit when his piercing yellow eyes bore into my skin. "I will announce the day of the Games once it arrives. Until then, think about the reward one—and only one—Jellicle will have the chance to receive. Don't you all want freedom? Riches? Everything you could ever want and more? Think about it." And with that, he snaps his fingers and vanishes.

From the crowd of grumbling and sobbing Jellicles, I hear Tugger say to another tom, "Looks like Macavity's won again. He always gets his way." _Yeah, but onlaiy 'cause you let 'im._

I can't see the Jellicles as anything else but defeatists. Once our beloved leader, Old Deuteronomy, was captured and killed by our new dictator, we immediately gave up on hope. We're nothing but quitters. Our entire tribe has collapsed and is now something I can't even recognize anymore. The "Jellicle Junkyard" still looks pretty much the same, but the number of cloudy and rainy days seems to have doubled. The air constantly smells like puke from the Jellicles who have overworked and vomited, poor things. And the Wallace and Grommit causing us to lurch our bodies around like we are some sort of drunk is basically just the regurgitation of our day's lunch. Needless to say, food is scarce. Even the mice these days are as weak as us, offering no sort of nutrition for our frail bodies. And of course Macavity doesn't care. All he does throughout the day is think up of ways to expand his empire and how to make our lives more miserable than they already are.

So when Tugger says this, I pull a confused Jemima away from the crowd and back to our safe den. I ignore the longbow and long, wooden tube resting against the wall of our den, and instead I lead Jemima to her favorite cushion and subconsciously tuck her in under her blanket.

_Aw, no, not Jem, not me dea' li'le sistah_, I think. _She's too fragile, too delicate. She won' su'voive a daiy in dese gaimes. 'Ow am Oi supposed to break it to 'er? _

"Rumpleteazer, what are you doing?" Jemima asks. "It's not bedtime yet; we just woke up!"

"Huh?" I say, blinking myself out of my inner world.

"Do you mind if you stop pacing for a second?"

I freeze in my spot. I didn't even realize that I am rapidly speeding back and forth across the room.

"Rumpleteazer, I don't get this. How is the Jellicle Games even a game?" Jemima asks innocently.

"You'e not the onlaiy one 'o's confused, Jem," I point out. "Oll the Jellicles a'e quite baffled, actuallaiy."

"Well, can you explain it for me, please?" my sister says, looking up at me through thick eyelashes.

I sigh. "Olroight. But Oi don' wont to see anaiy tea's, 'kaiy? Macavity doesn' appreciate croiyn' queens."

Jemima bites her bottom lip and then hesitantly replies, "Okay."

"Okaiy, listen up." I take her shaking paws in mine and squeeze them hard, because I'm half-expecting her to sprint from the den, sobbing uncontrollably. "We oll know Macavity's a sick tom, roight?" She nods and urges for me to go on. "Well, 'e's ti'ed of the Jellicles."

"He was always tired with us."

"Yes, but now 'e's even mo'e fed-up," I clarify. "'e 'as no use foh us. 'e wants to get rid of the Jellicles completelaiy."

"How?" Jemima meows quietly.

"By 'ostin' the Jellicle Gaimes. 'e lets us train foh a whoile, then confiscaites ouh weapons. On the daiy of the Gaimes, we oll come out to the clearing and search foh weapons, Oi guess." Macavity really wasn't very clear with the instructions. Maybe this amuses him even more…

"But why do we need weapons? When would we use them?" Jemima inquires, still rather puzzled.

"Macavity's troing to tu'n oll the Jellicles against each ovah. 'e wonts us to kill one anovah, to foight foh the prize in the end."

"Freedom and riches?"

"Fraidom and riches—and gloraiy. But onlaiy one Jellicle can be the winnah."

"Wait," Jemima interjects, finally grasping the true concept of these Games. "After these Games, only one Jellicle will be living? Out of all of us, only one?"

"Dat is 'is intention, Oi suppose." I heave another sigh and sweep off a single tear running down my sister's sweet face. "Oi'm sorraiy, Jem, but we can't disobey Macavity, or it'll be off wif oll of ouh 'eads."

"Wouldn't that be better than having our own friends slay us?" Jemima cries, her voice cracking. "What could be worse than the Jellicles being forced to murder one another?"

"No, no, Jemmy, don't worraiy," I tell the weeping queen, holding her close. "The Jellicles will nevah agree to it anywaiy. If Macavity wonts a show, 'e ain't gonna get one. No Jellicle will evah 'arm anovah, Oi promise."

She holds out her tiny pinky finger. "Pinky promise?"

A small smile plays on my lips as a clasp my little finger around hers. "Pinkaiy promise. Tell ya wot: let's blow off dis training and go catch some lunch instead, yea?"

"Okay!" Jemima agrees. "Let me just put on my collar first."

"Olroight, Oi'll meet ya outsoide the den." I turn to leave as Jemima rummages through drawers and items to find her spiky collar. Once Macavity became dictator, he required all Jellicles to have a tracking device either secured into their collar or inside their bodies. As for me, a small tracker has been inserted into one of my many Woolworth pearls. Now stepping a foot outside the boundaries of the junkyard has its consequences.

Parting the curtain that marks the entrance of our den, I can no longer hear screams and sobbing coming from the tribe. Nearby, two cats are murmuring to each other, both of them toms.

"You know," a voice I recognize as Alonzo's says, "this whole Jellicle Games idea…may not be all that bad."

I raise an eyebrow to myself. Surely he must be joking!

"What makes you say that?" Admetus responds to his friend.

"Admit it: life is downright rotten with Macavity as our tribe's leader. Won't you do just about anything to gain your freedom again?"

"I…guess…so," Admetus hesitantly replies. "But it all seems a bit severe, don't you think?"

"However it will turn out, it can't be any worse than living in this sorry state." Admetus nods in agreement, and they separate from each other. I'm quite shocked by their conversation and Alonzo's desperate words, but I try not to overanalyze it. After all, we Jellicles have not been completely rational recently. Macavity's insanity is rubbing off on us…

"Okay, Teazer, I'm ready." Jemima bounds out of our den and takes my paw. "Where should we dine?"

"The choice is you's, Jem."

"How about behind the TSE-1?"

"Wonde'ful. Dat area's been teeming wif pigeons, laitely." We walk together to the junkyard's most famous car, also Jemima's favorite place to have a mini-picnic. I start off with a brisk jog to the car, but I'm gradually slowing down as I catch bits and pieces from the Jellicles' conversations.

"How much food do you think we'll receive?"

"What would life be like without Macavity, do you think?" "I guess the only way to find out is if we participate in this Jellicle Games."

"Once I win, I think the first place I'll go is—" "Hey, who said _you_ are going to win?"

"Did you see the weapons in your den today?"

"How long do you think the Games will last?"

"Who do you think will win?"

"…I bet she'll be the first to fall…"

"Rumpleteazer?"

Jemima tugs on my arm, her face full of concern. "Rumpleteazer, are you okay? Your face is turning pale."

"O-Oi'm foine, Jemmy." I point to a bird that swoops down from above and hides just behind the TSE-1, its head bopping around as it walks. "Let's go catch dat pigeon, shall we?" I keep my eye on the tasty bird fluffing its wings as I drag Jemima up and over the TSE-1.

"Dude, I totally ROCK these throwing knives. How did Macavity know?"

I grit my teeth and make an attempt at blocking out all background noise. Jemima scrambles up the hood and roof and slides down to the boot of the car. I follow her at a snail's pace, too distracted to keep my mind focused on anything else but eavesdropping.

"What about the kittens?" "What about them?" "They won't last a day in this jungle by themselves." "Well, less competition, right?"

A low growl escapes my lips, but I quickly cut it off and replace it with a quiet titter when Jemima hears me. I give her a miniscule smile to assure her nothing is wrong and resume to overhearing the Jellicles' conversations.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Electra pouting up at Alonzo, who is avoiding eye contact with her. "Lonzy, isn't this awful?" she says.

Alonzo doesn't respond. He merely pivots around and marches off, leaving Electra helplessly sobbing on the ground._ Oh, no. Dis is not tuhning out the waiy it's supposed to._

"Jemima!" I call, catching up to the red and black queen, who is happily munching away on a pigeon's wing.

"I saved you the legs, Rumpleteazer. I know that's your favorite bit." Jemima grins up at me, her eyes dry but her face still mildly tearstained. She hands me the tender fowl, and I ravenously sink my sharp teeth into the meat, savoring every succulent bite. I chew slowly, making sure every last bit of flavor dissolves on my tongue, because there's no knowing whether that will be my first and only meal of the day or not. In fact, just spotting the pigeon was luck enough. Too bad there wasn't a flock to tag along.

"'ere, you can 'ave 'alf of moine." I toss one leg to her, and she nearly squeals for joy. I sit down and lean my back against the TSE-1, keeping my ears perked up.

"What do you think about this, Jenny?" I hear Skimbleshanks say.

"Skimble," Jennyanydots replies, "desperate times call for desperate measures."

_Jenny too!_ _'ow can oll the adults be folling foh dis? A'e we reallaiy dat afraid of Macavity?_

"Teazer, I'm done!" Jemima exclaims, rushing over to me. "Since it's our day off, we can spend the day together!"

"It's awful that we have to think that way, but I think you may be right, Jenny," Skimbleshanks says.

"Teazer?"

"I wish we didn't have to come to this…risking the lives of our own kittens…"

"We can't all live here like this, Jenny. It's torture. And if one of the kittens wins, then good for that kit."

"Teazer? You seem distracted."

"I guess the Heaviside Layer would be much better than the life we are all living now, correct?"

"Correct. The Jellicles will be on cloud nine…literally."

"Rumpleteazer, are you sleeping with your eyes open or something?"

In utter infuriation, I unintentionally rip out strands of my headfur and scream, "Dis is absuhd!" Jemima jolts backwards in surprise, yet I continue to rant, "It's absolutelaiy, positivelaiy ridiculous! Wot is wrong wif dis troibe?"

"Sorry, Teaze. I didn't mean to make you mad," Jemima apologizes, ducking her head down.

_Aw, now look wot you've done, Teazah. _"Oi'm sorraiy, Jemima. It's not your fault. Oi'm just a bit…peeved. And new chainge of plans: we a'e gaoin' to train—oll daiy if we 'ave to."

"But…why?" Jemima inquires, obviously disappointed.

"Because it's no longah a mattah of winning and losing, Jem." I lean in close and murmur in a low voice, "Twenty-fouh cats a'e gonna be foightin' foh theih loives, and onlaiy one is gonna come out aloive. Don't you wont dat cat to be you?"

"But I thought you said the Jellicles aren't going to do it! I thought we are going to revolt!" Jemima cries, her eyes glossing over with more tears.

"Dat's wot Oi thought, but dat's not wot is gaoin' to 'appen. The other Jellicles seem to be looking fohwahd to the grand proize in the end." I reach for Jemima's paw, but she jerks it away. "Come on, now. If you wanna win, you'll 'ave to train mo'e than the ovahs."

She shakes her head. "No!"

"Come on, Jem, don't be a whoiny kittaiy."

She merely shakes her head again. "No!"

I seize her arm and drag her back to the clearing. "No!" she screeches, drawing the attention of others. "No, I won't train! I won't! I don't want to do this!"

"Oi don't wanna train eithah, but Oi'm troiyin' to 'elp you out! If you wanna live to see the next month, you'e gonna 'ave to wohk foh it!"

"Please, Rumpleteazer, I won't! Just the thought of my motive for doing it…it's awful!" Jemima sobs, digging her claws into the ground. "I c-can't believe w-we're going through with this," she blubbers. "W-What happened to b-being good and c-compassionate?"

Seeing my sister in tears makes me want to cry too, but I stay strong for her. I can't be a weak target for the Games. I pick my sister up and cradle her as I stroll back to our den, ignoring the looks of others as I walk by. I drop Jemima onto a blanket and some cushions so that she can have a nice catnap. I say that once she is fully-rested, we can begin training as to not be intimidated by the well-trained Jellicles out there. Jemima still refuses. And it's not because she's lazy or lacklusterful. It is not because she isn't athletic or skillful.

It is simply because Jemima won't dare to touch anything that would harm her own kind.

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**How was it? If you have any questions, comments, and/or critique, please review! **

**Cockney Slang in this chapter: Wallace and Grommit=vomit. Porkie Pie=lie. I think that's it!**

**Thanks so much for reading! Please review! (And I would also love some tips on writing in Cockney accents, thanks!)**


	2. Anger Always Follows

**A/N: Hi, I hope you enjoy this chapter! And, uh, sorry, but I have to do some drabbling here first.**

**Some corrections I have made to the first chapter: I said that thirty-one cats were fighting in the Jellicle Games, but I have changed it to twenty-four, because some cats like Bustopher Jones and Gus (the Theatre Cat) are not participating. Once the Games actually arrive, all the participants will be mentioned.**

**I forgot to tell you what a "Porkie Pie" means. It is Cockney for a lie/false statement. I have added that at the end of the first chapter.**

**Thank you to everyone who has liked and reviewed! You're all mentioned on my profile :) Also, thank you to BlueSky509 for help with the Cockney accents!**

**As for this chapter, I hope it's not too abrupt. The reason being for the suddenness of the characters' feelings is that emotions can come and go with the blink of an eye ;)**

**Cockney Rhyming Slang in this chapter: Tiddlywink=drink (noun). Coals and Coke=broke (financially).**

**Enjoy!**

**(One last thing!) DISCLAIMER: I don't own CATS, any ideas from The Hunger Games, nor the song "Safe and Sound" (which may come up a couple times).**

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"All duties have been canceled for the day due to your need of excessive training," the voice of the Napoleon of Crime blares over the speakers spread across the junkyard. "Use the weapons left in your dens wisely. You break anything, I break you. Good day."

_You keep wishin' us a good daiy, Mac, but it nevah 'appens._ Although my sour mood has taken over my mind, I manage to push myself up from the ground and pad over to Jemima. Her eyes are clenched shut and so are her fists. I reach a paw out to touch her shoulder.

"I'm awake, Rumpleteazer," she says, catching me off guard. "I couldn't sleep."

"Oi…Oi undahstand, Jem," I reply, my heart full of sorrow for my little sister. "But if youhe gonna win dis, you 'ave to practice. Oi'll be roight wif ya. And Oi'll take ya to a clearing fah awaiy from the main one. We'll be alone, okaiy? Dat sound…moderatelaiy good?"

Jemima sniffles and weakly nods, but a smile never graces her innocent face.

"C'mon, piggaiy back," I say, attempting to cheer her up. But the junkyard is so dismal these days that it's nearly impossible to do so. Nevertheless, Jemima climbs up onto my back, and I help hoist her up. Straightening my knees, I pick up the weapons Macavity left for us and carry my little sister out of our den, where a ray of sunshine instantly paints our faces. I'm almost thankful for the nice weather until a pigeon flies up overhead, where it immediately fries once it passes the junkyard boundary. The electrocuted bird drops dead, a cloud of smoke taking its place in the air. I twist my head to the side to look at Jemima, hoping she didn't see the incident that just occurred, but her face is buried into the back of my neck. Steering clear from the force field, I wind through the many mountains of junk until I reach a particularly small clearing I used to go when I was little, since it is full of the human's children's games, from Monopoly to decks of cards. I carefully set Jemima down, and she stands stock still, to upset to even crumple to the ground. I dig through a junkpile and extract a dartboard—the same one I used to play with as a kitten, throwing the darts until I got three bullseyes in a row. I hang it up on a small dumbbell just a little above eye level. Once it is secure, I trot back over to Jemima twenty-five feet away, who looks as if she dozed off with her eyes open. I pick up one of the weapons. Upon closer inspection, I realize it is not wooden, but it's made of bamboo, and by its size, I can determine that Macavity had intended for it to be practiced by Jemima. The entire thing is one thin tube, open on both ends, with one end shaped like the end of a trumpet. A string has been connected to both ends to wrap it around the body for easy carrying.

"Oy, Jem. I fink dis one's youhs." I hand it over to her, and she gingerly clasps it in her paw.

"What is it?" she asks, displaying no interest whatsoever.

"To mai, it looks to be a poison daht blowgun," I respond. "'ere, put the smoller end up to youh mouf."

Jemima obeys, but only because she trusts her older sister.

"Raise the ovah end so it points to the tahget," I tell her. "Now blow!"

Her cheeks puff up, and instantly a dart shoots out from the other end. She misses the target, but at least now Jem knows how it works.

"Noice, Jem. Now aim foh the tahget."

She tries a few more times, but the dart never touches the target. It goes nowhere near it. Her aim is completely off, and I'm starting to think it's intentional.

"Jemima, ya need 'elp?" I ask gently.

Jemima lowers the blowgun from her lips and shakes her head.

"Youhe supposed to be troing to 'it the centah of the tahget," I explain.

"It's not a target," she whimpers quietly. "It's my friend."

I raise an eyebrow at her, and it takes me a moment to fully understand her metaphor.

"Jemima," I say, "Oi'm not gaoin' to maike ya kill anyone. But if someone goes aftah ya…well, Oi wont ya to be able to defend youhself."

"But you promised that the Jellicles wouldn't hurt each other," she remarks. "You said that it could never happen."

"Dat's wot Oi thought, Jem. But…Oi didn't know they'd actuallaiy agree to it. Oi'm reallaiy sorry." I wrap my arms around Jemima and hold her close.

"Oi know you can win, Jemima," I whisper into her ear. "Youhe small and quick. And if ya leahn 'ow to use dis doo'ickey 'ere, you'll be a triple threat."

"Y-You really think I can win?" she says, a glint of hope in her eyes.

"Of couhse!" I answer. "C'mon, taike anovah shot at dat bullseye."

"O-Okay." She lifts the blowgun again parallel to the ground.

"Now listen up," I command in a fake militaristic voice. "Dat tahget is not youh friend. You know whoiy?"

"Why?"

"Because dat tahget…is Macavity."

Jemima growls and blows sharply into the bamboo. It doesn't hit the center, but it sticks itself to the board, all right.

"'e's comin' aftah ya, Jem! Don't let 'im get neah ya. Keep shootin'."

Jemima shoots two more, both closer than the previous one. She takes a deep breath, and four darts jet out consecutively. They each land a centimeter away from each other, and one is about an inch and a half away from the bullseye.

"'e's still comin'. Delivah one foinal blow."

She blows again with so much force that the long needle of the dart punctures the thick rubber all the way through. It doesn't quite reach the bullseye, but it's close enough.

Jemima blinks, utterly surprised with herself, and lowers the blowgun. "How did I do?"

"Ya did great, Jemmy," I respond, giving her another hug. "Oi'm proud of ya."

"Thanks, Teaze. I think imagining it was Macavity I'm aiming at helped me." Jemima slings the blowgun over her shoulder. "Your turn, Teazer. You said you would practice with me."

"And that's a promise Oi'll keep." I pick up my bow and arrows, not too familiar with the weapon. I hang the quiver of arrows around my body and pull one arrow out. "Let's see 'ere…" I firmly nock the bow and stretch the bowstring back. I close one eye and aim the point of the arrow at the center. After adjusting my position a few times, I finally release the arrow, and it flies towards the dartboard.

Jemima claps for me. I chuckle and give her a small smile. I was a few inches off the center, but it's not bad for my first try. I take out another arrow and nock that one as well. I pull back the arrow even farther than before and then release it. It goes in the exact same spot as before.

I shut my eyes and take deep breaths. _Remembah dat it's not a tahget, it's Macavity_, I remind myself. _The saime cat 'o ruined ouh loives. Maide ouh food supply scahce. Is fohcing the Jellicles to kill each ovah in an ultimate ba'le to the def._ With this in mind, I fling my eyes open, and an unusual sense of fury and rage overwhelms me. _The saime cat 'o maikes mai sistah croiy!_ I fiercefully pull another arrow back and quickly aim it at the center.

Bullseye.

I snap back to reality. The clouds clear out of my head. I turn back to Jemima. Her eyes are wider than usual.

"How did you…" she trails off.

I shake my head. "I don't know, but dat's enough training foh todaiy. Any mohe and moiy 'ead'll explode." I position the bow over my body and take Jemima's paw in mine. "Wont to get a Tiddlywink?"

"Oi would love a Tiddlywink!" Jemima responds, copying my accent.

"Well…we'he koinda Coals and Coke roight now at 'ome, so whoiy don't we foind a pigeon and traide it foh some goat's milk from Jenny?"

"Sounds good."

"Look up at the skoiy and see if you can foind anyfin'."

Jemima and I shield our eyes from the sun and crane our necks upwards. _Dat pigeon from befohe must 'ave a familaiy_, I think. And sure enough, maybe ten minutes later, another pigeon zooms across the sky before landing on top of a junkpile.

"Okaiy, toime to test out moiy new skill," I say, taking off my bow and nocking another arrow. I release, and it lands by the bird's feet. The pigeon flies off above our heads.

"Ge' it, Jemima, ge' it!" I shout.

Jemima hurriedly shoots a dart into the sky, but the pigeon is too fast, and she misses by a mile.

"Sorry, Rumpleteazer," she says sheepishly.

"No, it's moiy fault, Jem," I assure her, running my fingers through my headfur. "Maiybe Jenny'll be koind enough to give us some goat's milk foh free."

"Maybe."

We hold paws and slump over to Jenny's den, which is by the clearing, giving me an opportunity to get a glimpse of the other Jellicles training. The youngest queenkittens aren't outside, Jemima being the only exception. Plato has Admetus in a (hopefully) playful headlock. The Rum Tum Tugger and Alonzo are sword-fighting, and so are Skimbleshanks and Asparagus. The two Siamese sisters are swinging maces around like they're the baddest things in town. Jemima stares at her back paws the entire time. One look up and she'll be scarred for life.

To appear less threatening, I drop our weapons off at our den first, and then head over to Jennyanydots's den, which is also the infirmary.

"'ello, Jenny!" I greet after parting the entrance curtain.

"Oh, hello."

I'm a bit taken aback by her unenthusiastic greeting. Does she already see me as an enemy?

"'Ow is everyfin?" I ask politely.

"Oh, just like it is everyday," she responds with a sigh, seemingly irritated with me.

Jemima and I share a look with each other. "Jenny?" Jemima pipes up.

Jennyanydots sighs again. "Yes, dear?" she replies, exasperated, while drying some dishes.

"We were wondering if you could share some of your goat's milk with us," Jemima says. "We tried to get a pigeon to trade with, but only one flew by and we were unable to catch it."

"We'd appreciate it if you'd spahe some foh us," I add. "We 'aven't 'ad anyfin' tastaiy to eat or drink todaiy."

Jennyanydots dries the last dish and turns to us with a paw on her hip. "I don't have enough for myself, let alone two more queens. Not even a pigeon would cover the cost. I suggest you look for someone else to offer you a treat as precious as goat's milk."

"Oh" is the only thing that slips out of Jemima's mouth. I don't bother even saying a "thanks, anyway" to the adult queen before roughly dragging my sister out of the den.

"Rumpleteazer, are you okay?" she questions sweetly.

I bite down hard on my tongue, hoping that inflicting pain somewhere else will help me forget about the pain in my mind. Skimbleshanks hurls a knife from across the clearing at a small mouse that he spotted and pierces it perfectly.

"Jus' look down," I order Jemima.

She tilts her head to the side at my atypical tone of voice. "Rumple—"

"Oi said look down!" I nearly scream in frustration. Jemima doesn't dare defy me and stares down at the ground. I take shaky breaths to calm myself, but it only makes things worse.

At our den, I tell Jemima, "Go to sleep."

"In the afternoon?"

"Yes! Jus'…you need youh rest. Please, Jem, foh me—lie down and rest foh the daiy."

"Okay, Rumpleteazer. Wake me up if anything's wrong."

"I will, Jemima, fanks. Sweet dreams."

"Love you."

"Love ya too, Jemmy."

I tuck her in under the thin cotton blanket and kiss her forehead. I sit at a chair by our dinner table, which we haven't used for its real purpose in a while. I turn off the lamp and strike a match to light a single candle on the table, because Jemima hates sleeping in the dark. She's no scaredy-cat—nearly all the Jellicle kittens don't like snoozing in the dark, either. I take out a book that all Jellicles are required to have: _The Life of the Napoleon of Crime: From Past to Present_. The book is as thick as Macavity's head. I flip open to a random page and begin to read:

"_After Macavity's plan was successfully carried out and Old Deuteronomy had been killed, the Jellicles went into a deep state of depression. The agreement was that in exchange for letting them stay alive, each and every Jellicle must serve the great Hidden Paw six days a week. If any cat does not complete their duties for one day or more, he or she will be thoroughly punished by death. Their leader, Macavity, generously gives every Jellicle one day of rest, where they may do whatever they please as long as it is not disruptive or inconspicuous. No Jellicle may go AWOL at any time during the day. Said Jellicle will be punished either by death or by the death of his/her family/friends. This will maintain and stabalize the empire of the great Macavity. If any outbreaks or riots occur, a public execution will be held. Every Jellicle is required to witness the execution. If any Jellicle fails to watch the execution, said Jellicle will be brutally—"_

"AGH!" I scream, ripping out the page and tearing it to shreds. I watch it burn in the fire, watch the smoke rise. I watch with a fiery glint in my eye. I tear out more pages from the book. Crumple it. Rip it. Make it unrecognizable. Then watch the fire eat it away. Half the book is bare by the time I've gotten some of my anger out on it. But there's more ire inside of me. I chuck the book across the den, stand up, and tip my chair over. _Oi'm gaoing craizy, but Oi don't cahe. Everyone is waiy mohe insane than me. Oi can't even compahe moiyself to them._ The true nature of the Jellicle Games finally hits me. I've known what it was for hours now, but it only just enters my inner mind and gets the gears in my brain to shift and turn and work. It's like when Achates was murdered my Macavity a couple months back. When we watched the poor tom get electrocuted, none of us knew what happened. We were all completely shocked. We denied the fact that the ten-year old was gone. _The five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance._ I've just finished the first stage and moved on to the second. But I know I'll never reach the last one. Never.

_I remember tears streaming down your face _

_When I said, 'I'll never let you go.'_

_When all those shadows almost killed your light._

_I remember you said, 'Don't leave me here alone.'_

_But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight._

I kneel down by the fourteen-year old queen and stroke her fur soothingly. I quietly sing to her, _"Just close your eyes. The sun is going down. You'll be alright. No one can hurt you now. Come morning light. You and I'll be safe and sound." _

I dig out her paw from under the blanket and stuff my face into it, on the verge of crying. "You will be the last one standing," I mumble. "I will maike suhe of it."

_But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight._

* * *

**I was listening to "Safe and Sound" before typing this, and it kind of made me dramatic and emotional...**

**Thanks so much for reading! Please review!**


	3. Fork in the Road

**A/N: ...Dang...I'm REALLY sorry! I know it's been so long, but I just want to let you know that I am never and will never be on hiatus! And now I have a lot of blabbing to do...I wouldn't blame you if you don't want to read every random thing I have to say, so you may skip down to the Cockney Slang in this chapter and then continue with chapter three! If you have the patience to read what I have to say...then yay! ;)**

**First of all...Just a HUGE thanks to all my reviewers, favoriters, and followers! You are all super duper amazing! :D**

**Second...I have posted all the relationships in this story on my profile! I'm sorry if you don't like the pairings or anything :( I hope that doesn't discourage you from reading this story ^_^ Thanks! **

**Third...ly...Regarding the Cockney accents: I am making some changes with the Cockney accents. First, if a word looks too unrecognizable with the Cockney accent, I probably won't add the phonetic changes (for example, "go" and "gao", and "Jellicle" and "Jellicew"), unless I really need it. Second, for names (such as Jemima and Macavity), I also don't add the accent to (so it won't be Jemoima and Macavitaiy, 'cause that just looks...weird). I am also using 'h's more often instead of an apostrophe. Thank you to BlueSky509 and sarbear2255 for tips on the accent, and also thanks to everyone who says my phonetic-writing is good! :)**

**Gah there's more...Fourthly...My pathetic excuse for why I updated so late: I was having trouble writing this chapter, always deleting and rewriting parts, then realizing other parts are really rushed. Then I discovered what the power of moody music can do to you :) Sad scenes=RainyMood combined with Chinese Bamboo Flute music, Exciting/Action scenes=Necrofantasia, and Completely Weird yet Somewhat Interesting scenes=The Skyrim Main Theme song ;) Yeah...I don't know if that made sense or not but I just thought I'd share that with you wonderful people :) And the weird thing is, I wrote the second half of this chapter backwards AND with my eyes closed o_O Something new for me, but I hope you like it!**

**Okay, this A/N is turning out to be longer than the entire story...I'm just going to tell you where we left off (since it's been so long): Basically Jemima and Rumpleteazer fell asleep after a long day of training...Oh, and Jennyanydots didn't give them any goat's milk :p Yep!**

**Sorry for all my talking xD AGH one more thing! Cockney Rhyming Slang! Chew the Fat (hehe...) means "chat" and Half Inch means "pinch/steal".**

**Ah what the heck I'm putting the disclaimer in the end—this is way too long! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Attention all Jellicles: Open your ears for this important announcement regarding the Jellicle Games."

I groan a little too loudly, causing Jemima to wake from her deep slumber and stretch out her limbs. Having accidentally fallen asleep on her stomach, I sluggishly rise from my position and gyrate my sore neck. Jemima sits up with a long yawn and rests her head on my shoulder, not ready to get up and about just yet.

"What did Macavity say, Teazer?" she asks through yet another yawn.

"Nufin', yet," I reply while ruffling her headfur. "Ya know 'ow 'e olways loves to add dramatic pauses to everyfin'."

"As you all surely know by now," Macavity continues, his voice booming throughout the entire junkyard, "not everyone will make it out alive. In order to make it simpler for you to know how many of your _enemies_—" I cringe. "—are still standing, you will hear this—"

_BOOM_. The sound of a cannon going off explodes into the air and echoes long after the fire. "On game day, every time you hear the cannon fire, one of your opponents has fallen. The first day, however, I can assure you will be a vicious bloodbath, therefore no cannons will be fired until the slaying has ceased. At night, the faces of the fallen will appear in the sky to see who is in the game and who is not.

"All duties have been called off for today. I expect each and every one of you to be training. That includes the kittens." I can almost see him piercing his yellow eyes into the skin of the young ones, rather I can feel it.

"Your training should begin now. Good day."

I slowly turn to face Jemima, afraid of her reaction. She's staring down at her lap. "Can we have breakfast?" is the only thing that comes out of her mouth.

I grasp her paw firmly in mine and lead her out of our den. "If we can foind anyfin', then yes."

"Maybe there'll be more mice behind the—" Jemima stops and stares down at the cracked dish in front of her hind paws. I bend down and delicately pick up the fine plate topped with four freshly slain mice.

"Thehe's a note," I say, unfolding the small slip of white paper with my free paw. "'We wehe luckaiy todaiy. Enjoy the moice. Love, Victoria.'"

"Victoria left this for us?" Jemima asks.

"Dat's sweet of heh." I pop a mouse into my dry mouth and hand the platter to Jemima. "Eat."

"Thanks." Her fingers loom over the largest of the mice, but then Jemima quickly changes her mind and picks up a smaller one.

"Go on, taike the big one," I tell her with a small chuckle. "It won't boite."

My little sister laughs, then gives in and says, "Okay!" before sinking her teeth into the large head and chewing slowly on it. A wide smile slowly creeps along her face as the tender meat's flavor bursts in her mouth with every bite.

"Once youh done, go put on youh collah, so we can head ovah to Vicky's and fank heh, olroight?"

Jemima nods as she is finishing off her mouse. After licking the tasty grease off of her fingers, she replies, "Okay," and dashes back to our shared room. I set down the plate with two mice left then pick up our weapons by the entrance of our den. A sigh escapes my lips. It all still seems too surreal. I have played with old bow and arrow toys I've seen strewn randomly across the junkyard, but the one in my paw seems fake to me. The smooth wood is polished to perfection, and the tips of each arrow are narrowed down to the sharpest point imaginable. I can't stop myself from imagining the apex of the arrow soaked in a Jellicle's blood—

_No! _ I interrupt myself. _I won't evah use dis! Oi'll taike Jemima to the deepest cohnahs of the junkyahd, whehe we won't encountah any Jellicles. Oi'll even maike a vow. _I raise the longbow up into the air and look it straight in the eye...if it has one. _Oi promise not to use any weapon foh any—_

"Teazer?"

I whip myself around and clutch my chest in surprise. Jemima raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Sorraiy, Jem, ya scahed me foh a second thehe." I take a deep breath before continuing. "You readaiy to go? Got ya collah on?"

"Yep, it's right here." She points to the spiked coller latched tightly around her neck. Gripping the weapons tightly in one paw and grasping Jemima's paw even tighter, we exit our den and make our way to the den Victoria shared with her brothers. After the most recent (and most likely final) Jellicle Ball, Old Deuteronomy had promised every couple that they would have their own den to share. But he never lived to fulfill that promise.

We cross the clearing to the west end of the junkyard, where we see Alonzo descend with both his fists packed with throwing knives. I pet my little sister's headfur as we pick up the pace and head towards the direction Alonzo just came from.

"Rumpleteazer, how about we—"

_WHOOSH. _

Jemima yelps and clings onto my body. I quickly pull her away from the spear zooming like a bullet just an inch away from us. I shoot a glare at the thrower.

"OIY! Wotch it!" I holler at Admetus.

"Sorry," the sand-colored tom says with a shrug. He jogs past us without another word to retrieve his weapon.

I scowl at him with his back turned before directing my attention back to Jemima. "Sorraiy, Jem. Run dat by me again?"

The red and black queen shakes her head and ducks it down. "It...It's nothing."

Instead of pushing the matter further, I quickly turn my fast walk into a run, and I pull Jemima along with me as we scurry across the clearing. We manage to arrive at Victoria's den in one piece.

Inside, the young, white queen is sitting on a cushion on the ground, conversing with her good friend Etcetera.

"Oh, I'm so glad you came!" the snow white queen exclaims, instantly standing up and tackling Jemima and me with a hug.

"Fank...you...foh...the moice!" I say between gasps for breath.

"Sorry." She pulls away from the choking embrace. "And you're very welcome for the mice. I guess today we were just lucky."

"We need days like this more often!" Etcetera remarks. Everyone chuckles at her comment (but it sounds extremely forced), and Victoria offers us a seat on a small rug. I set down our weapons behind me, hoping nobody will eye them suspiciously.

"How are Plato and Electra, Cettie?" Jemima asks her tabby friend.

"Eh, Plato's just...Plato, and—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Victoria interjects, crossing her arms but unable to suppress a smile.

"You tell me. You seem to hang out with him more than I do!" Etcetera points out with a snicker. "And I think Electra's with Misto right now..."

"Really? Mistoffelees told me he was going to take a walk alone," Victoria says, puzzled. "He's been very quiet recently, ever since that first announcement." She shudders a bit. "Misto often is gone for most of the day, then comes back looking exhausted. I don't want to ask him what he's been doing, because he seems too tired to answer and falls asleep, anyway."

"Besoids, 'e's probablaiy too upset to speak. I fink we oll ahe." There is a collective nod to prove my point. A painful silence hangs over the room, and I scratch into the dirt with my claw, drawing strange abstract art until there is a shout heard from outside the den.

"Please, _please_ tell me you're joking!"

"Do I look like I'm joking, Electra? Do I ever joke about serious things like this?"

"Misto—"

"Don't call me that."

"Mistoffelees…"

Etcetera breaks the silence in the den. "Are they fighting?" she asks innocently.

We all sit quietly for a few more seconds, intently listening to the conversation taking place outside.

"I thought you of all cats, Misto—"

"I _said_ don't call me that!"

Victoria reluctantly stands up. "Erm, I think I'm going to see what's up."

"Oi'll come wif ya," I volunteer and follow the pure white queen out of the den.

Outside, the ground seems to be completely wet with Electra's salty tears. Her mate, the magical, mystical—and now quite mysterious—Mistoffelees, is standing perpendicular to her, purposely avoiding eye contact with Electra. We pad over to the fighting couple, and Victoria places a gentle paw on her brother's shoulder.

"Mistoffelees, what is it?" she inquires, cocking her head to the side. "What are you two arguing about?"

The tuxedo tom jerks his shoulder away. "Nothing," he spits out. "I want to be alone."

"First, tell me _why_ you think this is a good idea!" Electra demands, even stomping her hind paw against the dirt ground.

"Wot's a good oidea?" I interject. "Mistoffelees, please tell us wot's going on."

"I _said_ I want to be alone!" Mistoffelees begins to storm off in the opposite direction of the clearing, but Victoria grabs his arm and ultimately stops him.

"Misto, is this about the Jellicle Games?" Vicky says uneasily, attempting to swallow her tears from just the mention of that horrid competition.

He yanks his arm away and scowls at his sister immaturely. "Maybe. Who cares? All you kittens are too dumb to even comprehend my opinion about this!"

Victoria gasps dramatically. "Misto! First of all, you do know _you're _a kitten as well! And second, we are willing to listen to you're opinion about it—"

"I'm not," Electra snorts.

"—but we can't approve of it. Honestly, Misto, the entire idea of the Jellicle Games is repulsive! Why would you ever agree to participate in it?"

"Because I want a life!" Mistoffelees nearly screams in her face. "I can't stand living like this!" He turns to Electra with a head swelling up like a hot air balloon. "You can't change my mind, Electra! If you won't accept my opinions and instead argue with me about them like a stupid kitten, then fine! I don't want to be your mate anymore!"

"Whoa, Mistoffelees. Cool it," I say, putting my paws up. "Taike deep breafs—"

"Quiet, Teazer!" he yells at me, and I stand stock still, absolutely shocked by his atypical tone of voice.

"I don't need your yoga lessons!" he continues, slamming his fists down by his sides in an attempt to prove his point.

"Hey, kits. What's all the ruckus about?" Plato saunters over and drapes an arm around Victoria.

"Don't even bother to pretend to act so friendly, Plato," Mistoffelees hisses at the copper tom. "Everyone knows you're looking forward to these Jellicle Games!"

Plato raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Misto! You have no right to say that!" Victoria scolds her twin brother, who doesn't seem to regret a thing he has snapped at us so far.

"Just you wait, Victoria! You'll realize I'm right once he comes charging at you with a spear in paw!"

Plato grunts and delivers a clean blow to the side of Misto's head. The conjuring cat staggers to the side in pain, clutching his aching head before hissing and lunging at his sister's mate.

"Stop, please!" Victoria cries, but to no avail. The fragile queen lifts an arm and reaches for Plato's shoulder, wanting to pull him out of the scrap and yet too afraid to interfere.

_Okaiy, dat's it_. I throw myself in-between the toms and try to rip them apart from each other, but Plato's body rams into mine in an attempt to get to his opponent, causing me to fall against the tuxedo cat.

"Ow!" I yelp. "Plato, quit it!"

"Kittens, kittens!" A strong cat lifts me up by the scruff of my neck and plops me down carelessly to the side. "Rumpleteazer, Plato, Mistoffelees," Munkustrap bellows at us, making me shrink down to the size of a mouse, "what is going on?!"

"Munku, Oi wos troiyin' to stop 'em—"

"Silence, Rumpleteazer," the silver tabby cuts me off rudely. "Mistoffelees, Plato, explain to me what all the fuss is about."

The two toms shoot daggers at each other with just one glare before shouting at the same time:

"Mistoffelees is looking forward to—" "Plato is trying to act—" "I bet he's been—" "He's such a liar!" "And he's always pointing fingers—" "And then he _attacks_ me—" "He's convinced himself that he's—" "He needs anger management!" "He acts like such a pollicle—" "He thinks he's the baddest tom around—" "He keeps on making stuff up about me—" "And I'm telling the truth but he doesn't—"

"Okay, stop, stop!" Munkustrap hollers over their voices. He rubs his temples and commands, "Mistoffelees, explain."

"Gladly," the magical tom replies, discreetly sticking his tongue out at Plato. "Munkustrap, these kittens here are whining constantly, and I am just having them face reality. None of them have grasped the truth yet, especially _her!_" Mistoffelees sticks a finger into Electra's face, and she backs away with a scrunch of her nose. "I'm tired of her and her complaining. I want us to split up!"

I gnaw the inside of my cheek, wondering if I heard right. I bite down hard, wishing I would wake up from this nightmare. Sweet, innocent, playful Mistoffelees wanting to separate from his wonderful mate? Only two couples had ever ripped apart from one another before: Macavity and Demeter, and Alonzo and Cassandra. Everyone must be as confounded as I am, for the silence seems to be passed on from one cat to another.

And then, after a minute or so, Electra screams, "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!" Hot, boiling tears bubble up in her eyes and soon form two angry rivers down her cheeks. "After everything, you end it like this!" she half-sobs, half-roars.

After leaving my mouth hanging open for the longest time, I pipe up: "Mistoffelees, don't ya fink you'he being ovahdramatic? Don't you remembah whoiy you becaime mates wif heh?"

"All that has changed!" Mistoffelees explains. "She's not the same anymore! Nothing is the same!"

"Mistoffelees! I think _you_ are the one who has changed," Victoria remarks.

"There he goes, pointing fingers at everybody again!" Plato hisses.

"Stop!" The ex-Jellicle Protector inhales deeply before saying, "Mistoffelees, this is a very serious matter that you will have to discuss with Old Deuterono—" The strong tabby shuts his eyes and exhales shakily, a part of him still denying that his father and the tribe's respected leader is gone. "—with Macavity. As for the rest of you, your leader has told you to train for the day, so get to it!"

Mistoffelees immediately shoots off to who-knows-where. Victoria tightly embraces a weeping Electra.

"I-I c-can't believe he doesn't w-want me anym-more!" the tortoiseshell queen bawls into Vicky's shoulder.

"It'll be okay, sis," Plato comforts his younger sibling, rubbing her back soothingly.

"I-I sh-shouldn't have y-yelled at him!" Electra cries. Right now she's just an absolute mess. Her tears are drenching both Victoria's body and hers.

"It's okay, Electra," Victoria says, trying to stay optimistic. "Misto is probably just upset like the rest of us. He needs to calm down, but…I guess I wouldn't blame him if he didn't." She pulls away from the hug and turns to face me. "Rumpleteazer? Do you mind if you bring Etcetera out here? I would be best if she knew."

"Suhe fing, Vick." I scramble back to the den, my head still spinning from the fight and argument that had just recently erupted. Stumbling into Victoria's den, I say, "Etcy! Plato, Vicky, and Electra ahe waitin' foh ya outsoide. Thehe's some bad news you'll probablaiy wont to know abou'."

The tip of Etcy's tail seems to twitch this way and that a bit as she is standing up. "Thanks, Teazer." She fast-walks out of the den, leaving me with my little sister and our weapons.

I heave a sigh. "Readaiy to go?"

Jemima gets up despite her reluctance for training. "If we really have to."

I collect the longbow and poison dart blowgun and lead Jemima out of the den. I wrap an arm around her shoulder and go down the same path we went the day before.

As we are winding through the junkpiles, Jemima suddenly speaks up. "Do you think Electra and Mistoffelees will get back together again?"

I twist my mouth up in thought, not knowing if I should tell the truth or say what Jemima wants to hear. "Well, fihst of oll, they'he not completelaiy separated yet. Mistoffelees would 'ave to consult wif Macavity if 'e reallaiy wonts to stop bein' mates wif Electra. And Oi'm suhe Misto will come back to 'is senses in a couple of daiys, if not hours."

Jemima nods in slight understanding, then says, "Are we going the right way, Teazer? I think we're heading in the wrong direction."

I quit staring at my hind paws and look up from the dirt ground. "Oh, you'he roight, Jem. Fanks foh pointin' dat out. C'mon, we should'nt be 'ere."

"Isn't this near Macavity's lair?"

"Yea. C'mon, dis waiy!" I yank her down another path to loop back to our very starting position.

"Why are you here?!"

A shrill squeak slips out of Jemima, and I freeze in my spot. I hestitanly twist my head around only to see that Macavity is not actually behind us.

"Whew, no worries, Jemmy. 'e wasn't tolkin' to us." I pet Jemima's headfur and continue my walk down the path, but Jemima grabs my arm and stops me.

"But if he wasn't talking to us," she starts, "then who is Macavity talking to? Who would visit Macavity when their duty is called off?"

I knit my eyebrows together in thought. "'o would wont to Chew the Fat wif Macavity?" I wrinkle my nose up and snap my fingers almost instantly. "Mistoffelees! C'mon, let's see wot 'e 'as to say."

"Teazer, are you sure this is a good ideAHHHHH!"

I take off at full speed, dragging a rather apprehensive Jemima behind me. I pull her behind a junkpile and peek out from the edge.

Macavity's den looks exactly like an evil lair a human would find on a cartoon show, only fitted for a cat. You can practically see bats swirling around the low-leveled den. Over half of the Mystery Cat's den is buried underground, making it appear smaller than it actually is. It is shaded by tall heaps of junk, and it smells like…Macavity.

I perk my ears up and urge for Jemima to do the same. Mistoffelees's voice from inside the den seems to be a hushed whisper, while Macavity refuses to hold back and booms like there's no tomorrow.

"I-I wish to split from my current mate, Electra," we hear Misto say faintly. "She obviously does not treat me with respect, and I am no longer interested in sharing a life with her."

"Mm, so you wish to file a divorce?" Macavity barks—and even though cats don't bark, leave it for Macavity to somehow do it.

"A-a what? I'm sorry?"

"A divorce, you simpleton. Having a mate is somewhat like having a husband or wife in human lives. When filing a divorce, you are officially and legally separating from your partner."

"Y-yes. That is what I want. I need your permission. So…" Awkward pause. "May I?"

_Please say no, please say no,_ I think in my head, crossing my fingers and toes. Jemima is just as anxious as I am. She presses closer into my back, afraid of what Macavity's response will be.

After what seems like forever, Macavity's fateful words finally ring out loud and true: "All right. You have my permission to separate from Electra." My jaw drops, and it seems impossible to blink. There is a moment of silence before the Napoleon of Crime continues, "Show her this document. My paw print is at the bottom and everything has been settled. There is no turning back now, no changing of the mind. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Misto responds.

"Good. Now go!"

Jemima and I see the tuxedo tom scamper out of the den, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead from anxiety and terror and his tail lowered and fluffed out. After all, who wouldn't be terrified when visiting the Monster of Depravity without an appointment?

I quickly press my back against the junkpile to stay hidden from any feline. Once Mistoffelees is clear from the area, I push myself up from the ground and help up Jemima.

"Poor Electra…" Jemima whispers with a sniffle.

"Oi know, Jem. But 'e's gonna regret doin' dat, Oi assuhe you." I sling the quiver of arrows around my body and pick up my longbow. "Let's ge' goin', now."

We continue our trek to the mini-clearing, now our private training area. The blowgun trails behind Jemima, getting thoroughly draggled and leaving a track in the dirt. The young queen pretends to get distracted at every little thing she sees: the weeds sprouting from the ground here and there, the occasional tin can that tumbles off the peak of a junk pile—all because she doesn't want to keep her mind focused on what's coming up ahead.

Once we reach our training ground, Jemima stops and stares at the dartboard for quite some time. She squints at the target and scowls. Confused by her behavior, I ask, "Jemmy, wot ahe you doin'?"

Her mouth forms a tight, thin line before she replies, "I'm trying to picture Macavity as the dartboard…."

_Um, olroight then. Wotevah wohks foh you. _I stand back and watch the fourteen-year old use a weapon she would never have dared to touch two days ago.

About a minute later, I decide to step up the game a bit. "We should practice a li'le fahthah now," I suggest, taking my sister by the shoulders and dragging her backwards a bit. "Dat's good." I step back and check the distance. She looks at me for consent, and with a nod of my head, the huffing and puffing continues.

She's not doing terribly; not bad at all. But before she even manages to get remotely close to the bullseye, she faces me with pleading eyes and whines, "Can I stop now, Teazer?"

I want to pity her, but I also don't want her to be unprepared. "Troiy one mohe toime."

She takes a deep breath before puffing her cheeks up and blowing hard through the tube. The dart flies out of the opposite end and strikes the target, extremely close to the bullseye.

"Okay, I'm done," Jem says before I can even praise her for her hard work. She quickly paces over to the edge of the mini-clearing and sets her weapon down on the ground and far away from herself. I stand where she was—approximately eight and a half meters away—and set the first arrow in its correct position.

_Shoot_, I command myself. I promptly free the arrow and watch it zoom towards the target—or rather towards the junkpile. I miss by more than just a few inches. I shake my limbs out in an attempt to loosen my muscles. Once I've become moderately less tense, I nock my next arrow and aim straight for the center.

Another miss.

I growl at myself, which actually scares Jemima a bit.

"Don't get so frustrated, Teaze," she advises. "It's nothing worth getting upset over."

I try to keep that in mind, but my own conscience takes over. Having been completely off in the last two shots and gradually losing my patience, I hastily position my arrow and shoot it without even bothering to aim accurately. It just barely hits the very edge of the dartboard. Groaning, I pick another arrow from the pack and carefully nock it this time, my impatience growing by the minute. I release the arrow, and before I know it, it's pinned to the dartboard, off-center by four or five centimeters.

"You were so close, Teaze," Jemima encourages me.

"Not close enough," I mutter. I reach back and extract an arrow from the quiver. Once I have properly nocked it, I get as close to the bowstring as possible, closing one eye and aiming for the center of the dartboard.

_Come on, Teazah_, I coach myself. _Jus' ge' a bullseye so we can go olreadaiy! Focus on the tahget, now rele—_

Something drips onto my thumb, sending a small chill throughout my body. I crane my neck up to face the sky, flinching once another raindrop comes tumbling down and splats on my face. I only now notice the large grey cloud looming over me, its depressing color seemingly stretching for miles. Another raindrop falls, followed by countless more, all soon harmonizing into one collective roar. I quickly put away my arrow and grab Jemima's paw, holding her close to keep her warm.

"Let's not ge' cought in dis rain," I say, tugging Jemima along. She ducks her head down to keep the rain from entering her eyes.

"But what about food?" Jemima asks, disappointed. "There won't be a bird or mouse in sight!"

"Well, we'he not goin' to Jennyanydots again, dat's foh suhe." After a moment of thinking, my eyes suddenly light up for what seems to be the first time in weeks. "'ey, Jemmy—'ave ya evah 'alf Inched a feloine befohe?"

My sister runs to my side with a puzzled face. "Half Inched? Of course not! Only you and Jerrie do that!"

_Did that,_ I mentally correct her. "Thehe's a fihst toime for everyfin', Jemmy." I look at her with a smirk. "Readaiy to go fievin'?"

Jemima bites her lip, still unsure about the idea. "What if we get caught?"

"Oi'm a professional, Jem! Don't worraiy 'bout dat. We'll quicklaiy snag some fishes, maybe some cream, and then we scram! It's not as 'ard as it looks—you jus' 'ave to be veraiy quiet and veraiy caheful, undehstand?"

She finally gives in. "O-okay. But only because you said we might get cream!" Jemima dashes ahead of me, and I sprint to catch up with her. Once we reach Jenny's den, we are well-soaked to the bone.

With a shivering finger, Jemima points to the queen's den, which is also the infirmary. "What if she is in there, Rumpleteazer? We'll get caught!"

"She's probablaiy sleepin', Jem," I reply. "It's olreadaiy nighttoime. Let's get closah and see if we can 'ear anyfin'."

We both cautiously press our ears to the curtain hanging at the entrance.

"Not a peep," I say, then sweep the flimsy piece of cloth to the side and enter the den. I motion for Jemima to follow, and after some hesitation, she does. We cautiously step into the infirmary and part yet another curtain to enter her main room of living. Jemima is slowly trailing behind me and gasps when a sleeping Jenny and Skimble surprises her. I quickly clap a paw over her mouth and anxiously watch Jenny roll over in her sleep with a moan. Once the tabby queen seems to be settled into her new position, I lift my paw from Jemima's mouth, and the black and red queen squeaks out, "M-maybe we should go, Teaze." She begins heading out of the room, but I swiftly grab her arm and haul her back in.

"Jem, food is a _necessitaiy_. Jenny 'as oll dis food to feed 'er familaiy, and we 'ave nearlaiy _nufin'_."

"But…this is also the food Plato, Etcetera, and Electra eat," the wise kitten remarks. "If you steal from Jennyanydots, you're stealing from the kittens, too."

_She 'as a point_," I think. _But Jemima's too koind foh heh own good. Oi can't let me youngah sistah stahve._ "We'll onlaiy taike a li'le, 'kaiy? Now, shh, we 'ave to staiy quiet."

Jemima nods and stays close to my heels as I stealthily maneuver around the curled-up Jennyanydots and Skimbleshanks on the rug. Luckily, their kittens share a separate room away from the kitchen, so there is no need to bother them or have them bother us. I open a couple wooden cabinets, the creak from the broken hinges making me cringe. Everything is empty—no surprise there.

"Rumpleteazer, over there." Jemima points to the corner of the kitchen, where a few bowls of goat's milk have been laid out. I pick the two most filled-up bowls and place them on a table, mentally reminding myself to retreive them once we leave.

"Okaiy, now if we can jus' foind somefin' to eat, we'he good to go," I say while prowling around the kitchen, desperate to catch sight of even the smallest crumb.

Jemima suddenly gasps again, even covering her mouth this time to add to the drama.

"Jemmy, wot is it? You reallaiy 'ave to stop doin' dat!" I whisper harshly at her.

She points to a hole in the wall where the wall and the ground meet. "There must be a ton of mice in there!" Jemima exclaims.

"Oi wondah if Jenny evah noticed dis hehself," I grumble under my breath. I tiptoe to that exact spot and gently tap the wall with my knuckles. One mouse scuttles out and goes around in small circles, acting completely bonkers. I silently pounce on it and hand it to Jemima. Then I knock on the wall beside the hole again, but not a single creature stumbles out.

"Here, let me try." My little sister raps on the wall, then on the ground, and yet no mouse peeps its tiny head out.

"Our knocking probably isn't loud enough," Jemima assumes. She sighs and looks down at the mouse in her paw. "Want to split this in half?"

I shake my head, refusing to leave without enough tasty snacks to fill up our bellies for a day. "We'he gonna 'ave to pound against the woll, captuhe as many moice as we can, then maike a run foh it." I turn back to a wide-eyed Jemima. "Readaiy?"

After some hesitation, she nods and exposes her claws, ready to slay any and every mouse she sees. I bend down and slam my fist beside the hole in the wall, shaking nearly the entire den. Just moments later, about two dozen mice come streaming out of that single hole, and we instantly begin attacking. Jennyanydots and Skimbleshanks quietly groan, gradually passing the boundaries of unconsciousness.

"S-Skimble?" Jennyanydots mumbles.

We both freeze in our positions. A few seconds pass, then Jenny exhales noisily and rolls over once more. Jem and I both sigh in relief.

"Okaiy, Jem, go ge' the milk and let's go-ohhhhh." Now standing in front of me with his arms crossed is Plato, staring down at me with narrowed eyes.

My chest rises and falls dramatically with each shaky breath I take. The russet tom's expression does not change. The silence pains me; I want him to say something. Not even the cricket dares to chirp in the background. He looks behind me and catches sight of the bowls of goat's milk we were planning to steal. I gaze at Plato with the most desperate look you can imagine. A look that says, "Please let us have it. Please let me feed my Jemima. Life can't get any worse for us now. Please…."

Maybe he read my thoughts, or maybe he read my face, because Plato pivots on his heel and walks back to his room without a word. I stand in shock for a minute or two, still unsure what to make of what just occurred. Jemima is the first to react. She runs into the kittens' room and kneels down beside Plato, wrapping her tiny arms around him.

"Thank you, Plato," she whispers, then dashes back over to me, picks up the goat's milk, and heads for the exit without another sound. I follow her with my fists trapping the dead mice in my paw. When I step out of the den, I still half-expect to see Munkustrap patrolling the area by the gates. But what would be the point now, now that Macavity is no longer a threat to the tribe. It's _his_ tribe.

Drenched by the clouds' torrential tears, we dart over to the opposite side of the clearing, past the pipe, and down a small path leading to our den. I rush Jemima inside and enter right behind her. I set the abundance of mice down onto a small, wooden table, then I lift the bow and quiver from my body and place it back by the entrance of the den. _Hm, am Oi missin' somefin'…? The area looks emptaiy to me…_

I snap my fingers. "Jem, we fohgot youh blowgun," I remember. "We'll pick it up tomorrow, olroight?"

Jemima doesn't respond and instead unbuckles the spiked collar around her neck and sets it on the table. I never take off my pearls, though. It is something special my father, Growltiger, gave to me after he successfully thrashed a ship and stole the bountiful loot. I try not to be bothered by the fact that there is now a tracking device injected in it. Reclining next to my dear little sister, I can't help but recall the wise decision Plato made when he caught us. Letting us go like that? So easily? Maybe there is a price to pay, perhaps during the Jellicle Games. I swallow hard and push the thought of the Games out of my mind. Is Plato the type of feline who wants revenge? Surely he has a punishment planned for us. Thieving is deeply frowned upon in this tribe. I don't get that kick out of it like I used to when I went burgling with Mungojerrie. Even getting caught was mildly fun back then. The bond between the calico and I was bruised once Macavity came into the picture. We haven't gone theiving since.

"_She's not the same anymore! Nothing is the same!" _Mistoffelees's voice rings in my head.

The conjuring cat is half-right—not much is the same, but hopefully one thing will never change, and that is the compassion one kitten has for another.

But it seems that that is already changing, too.

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**Okay, DISCLAIMER: I do not own CATS: the musical or anything that comes from The Hunger Games. ;)**

**How was it? Please tell me what you think! **

**I noticed that my Cockney accent phonetics isn't very consistent. I just realized that I kept on writing "heh" when the first "h" wouldn't have been pronounced, and then sometimes I would put "'er" (which I will continue to do now) :/ I'm still kinda of knew to all this phonetic-writing, so I'm still experimenting. Next chapter I will try my best to keep everything consistent! Sorry!**

**Mungojerrie should have a nice, big part in the next chapter! I'm really sorry for all the wait :( I promise promise PROMISE it won't happen again! See ya next time ;) Thanks so much for reading, and please review! Comments, questions, and critique are all appreciated :D**


	4. A Mornin' of Hunting

**A/N: BAHAHAHA I DID IT! I updated this story in less than a month! (If it were tomorrow, that would have been a month XD hehe...) School starts in two days, and I want to say that NO WAY am I abandoning my stories! NO. WAY. So if it does take me a month to update, I'm still working on it ;) Thanks so much for your patience!**

**Honestly...I'm not completely happy with this chapter :/ To me it sounds kind of...choppy? I wasn't sure how to fix it. Tips are very much appreciated! :D And I hope there isn't too much dialogue...**

**You may notice LOTS of changes with my phonetic writing! Tell me if you like this new way better than the old way I did it, or if I should switch back to my older ways ;)**

**Thank you sooo much to my reviewers, followers, and favoriters! I'd totally list you all right now but this is A/N is getting kinda long...But you are all mentioned in my profile!**

******And in comes Mungojerrie! :) I did put quite an abundance of Cockney Rhyming Slang in this chapter. Sorry if it gets kind of annoying...There won't usually be this much. Cockney Rhyming Slang in this chapter: Hank Marvin=starving; Claret=blood; Chalk Farm=arm; Cream Crackered=knackered.**

******I hope you enjoy! I had to watch like, ten videos on how to hold a sword properly to write this...^_^**

******DISCLAIMER: I do not own CATS or anything Hunger Games-related. They belong to ALW, T.S. Eliot, the RUG, and Suzanne Collins :)**

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"Attention Jellicles: A fair warning to all—The opening of the Jellicle Games will occur sometime this week, and I expect each and every one of you to be prepared. Tomorrow I will examine each Jellicle individually and take note on how you have progressed in your training abilities. More information about that will be announced at nighttime, and there will be a reminder in the following morning."

I share a nervous glance with Jemima, who is still lying on her cushion and refusing to get up. The red and black queen curls herself into an even smaller ball and turns her back on me. I stroke her arm comfortingly and reluctantly listen to the rest of our leader's announcement.

"Spend your time today wisely—those who sleep the day away _will_ be the ones who die first. All duties are called off. Good day."

"Readey to go, Jem?" I inquire, hoping her reaction won't be thick with hatred and sorrow. Her response is worse than I thought it would be: she gives a silent shake of the head and says nothing more. I give her a few minutes to unmute herself, and when that time comes, Jemima replies, "I'm tired, Rumpleteazer. Can't we have a break?"

I suppress a sigh from being released. I understand that Jemima is most likely exhausted from the constant training, and that she most definitely needs time to rest, but I just cannot bear the thought of losing my precious sister in the Jellicle Games. "Jemmy," I start. She gazes at me with eyes glossed over by impending tears. "Oi…You can rest foh a lil' whoile, okay? Since ya wohked so 'ard. Oi'm verey proud of ya, Jemima." I bend over and kiss her forehead gently. "Rest well."

"Thank you, Teazer. Love you."

"Love ya too, Jemmy. Remembah to eat a good breakfast but save some moice foh latah," I tell her. Pushing myself up onto my hind paws, I snatch the longbow and quiver of arrows from the entrance of the den and begin heading out to retrieve the poison dart blowgun and practice some shooting while I'm at it. The second I step into the cool, damp dirt outside, a shiver runs up along my spine. A cool breeze whizzes by and whips my headfur into odd shapes. I smooth down my reddish-orange headfur and begin my walk to our training ground, my teeth chattering along the way. Once the rain perished, its cold, unforgiving spirit continued to lurk in the air. I speed up the pace and shake out my limbs to get the blood to rush thoroughly through my body. The chill in the air continues to nip at my skin, making me hug my longbow tight against my chest in hopes of it warming me like a blanket. I break into a run and sprint all the way to the same small clearing with the target hanging on the end of a dumbbell. I take a deep breath before skimming across the area, searching for the blowgun.

_Now whehe did Oi put dat dahn fing? _I groan to myself and circle the area once more. I come across a Parcheesi board, multiple decks of cards, a game of Life, but no blowgun. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, there is a short buzz by my ear, like the sound of a pesky bumblebee. I jerk in the opposite direction of the sound and let out a piercing yelp. I swat the air with my paw, thinking another insect has come to feast upon my skin or enter my ear. Only once I notice a single dart attached to the dartboard do I realize my assumption is wrong. I spin around on my heel and catch sight of a sneaky calico tom attempting to hide himself behind the nearest junkpile.

"MUNGOJERRIE!" I scream, not at all being playful. "Dis ain't funney! Show youhself, you cowahd!"

Macavity's ex-henchcat steps out into the open with no hesitation, a bit red in the face from my chastising at him. He looks as if he wants to laugh but knows that will only make me ten times more enraged.

My attention flits to the blowgun in his paw. "Dat's not _youhs_, Mungojerrie! Give it back!" I scream, my face flushed with fury.

"Look, Oi'm sorrey—"

"Dat's me lil' sistah's!" I cut him off. "We _need _dat!" I stomp over to him and reach for the blowgun, but he turns away sharply and holds me off.

"Oi need it, too. Macavity said we moight not get the weapons we 'ave been trainin' wif in the actual Jellicle Games. It's good to practice wif oll weaponrey." Mungojerrie lifts the long tube to his lips and blows harshly into it, sending another dart flying by me and hitting the target.

Steam shoots out of my ears and warms the chilly morning air around me. "_Mungojerrie_, Oi'm serious!"

The tiger-striped tom looks at the weapon in his hand, then at me, and back at the weapon. "Foine," he mumbles, tossing the bamboo tube at me. "When 'ave you stahted bein' so bittah?"

I catch the blowgun before scrunching up my nose as I step intimidatingly towards the calico. "When Oi began 'avin' to take cahe of bof meself an' me lil' sistah whoile stealin' is out of the question!"

Mungojerrie locks his eyes with mine, those green emeralds suddenly losing that spark of energy and instead displaying empathy.

"Ya miss those toimes? When we went thievin'?" he asks, uncomfortably shifting his weight from one hind paw to the other.

I blink and look away. "Of couhse Oi do. Wot, ya fink I could give up ransackin' a 'uman's 'ome so easiley?"

Mungojerrie walks past me to reclaim his dart. "No. Ya jus' nevah tolk abou' it anymohe." He pries the dart off the target and pops it back into the blowgun's hidden chamber.

"If Oi even speak of it Macavity'll 'ave me 'ead on a stick."

"So in oll dese foive monfs ya've nevah gone stealin'? Not once?"

I sit down on the ground with a sigh, unsure whether I should confess or not. Now with the Jellicle Games coming up, I'm not sure who I can trust anymore. For all I know, Jerrie might go straight to Macavity and tell him about the crime I committed yesterday. But Mungojerrie and I…we used to be inseparable. Ever since Macavity became the leader of the Jellicles, there were no more pranks. No more burglaries. Barely any communication between us. How will I know if he has changed at all since then?

"C'mon, Teazah, I know ya 'ave somefin' to say." Jerrie snickers and sits down beside me. I set down the two weapons and prop my chin up on the palms of my paws.

"Between you an' me an' Jemima…an' Plato…Oi…" I twist my head to look at him. "Yestahday at noight. We wehe 'ungrey, an' Oi convinced Jemima dat stealin' wos ouh onley option foh us if we didn't wont to stahve. Foh a moment Oi felt young again."

"You'he still young, Teazah. You'he sixteen and still a kitten."

"No, dat's not wot Oi meant," I respond a little too harshly. "Young, as in, when Oi wos cahefree. In Old Deuteronomy's days."

Mungojerrie stares at the junkpile in front of him. "Oi 'aven't felt dat way foh monfs."

I gaze at the calico while he seemingly reminscines about the past. _In spoite of everyfing, 'e is the same Jerrie. 'e's still the best friend Oi can trust_.

"Jem an' Oi crept into Jennyanydots's den," I explain. "'er den specificalley because the day befohe, Jenny refused to give up an ounce of cream foh us."

"It's not usual foh Jenny to be'ave dat way."

"Yeah, onley wot wif dese Games an' oll, of couhse she would wont me to stahve."

"I don't fink it's mohe of wontin' ya to stahve than wontin' 'er familey to suhvoive."

I blink rapidly and consider the thought. "But she didn't 'ave to be so rude abou' it. Oi don't know. Oi never thought about that. Oll Oi know wos dat…Oi jus'…Oi jus' know Oi wos angrey. Oi thought she wos a selfish pollicle 'o wouldn't spahe a single mouse to feed two 'ank Mahvin queens."

"Mm-hm." Jerrie draws in the dirt with his claw—a few shapes here and there, then angry scribbles to cover it all up. "An' ya said Plato knows?"

"'e coght us in the middle of ouh act." Mungojerrie stops doodling and looks back up at me with a mixture of concern and disbelief on his face.

"'e managed to wake up an' coght us jus' as we wehe abou' to leave. No one said anyfin', an' then 'e jus' tuhned an' wolked away. Do ya fink 'e's plottin' revenge now? Maybe 'e's goin' to get back at Jem an' me durin' the Games."

Jerrie doesn't say anything in response, which worries me. Silence is often another way of agreeing.

"Wont to foind breakfast?" he finally says, getting up and giving me a helping paw. I take it and pick up the longbow and blowgun.

"Fanks, but Oi should be getting' back to Jemima. Oi gave 'er some restin' toime, but we should realley get back to trainin'."

"Don't weah 'er out. Ovehwoise she will be too tihed to pahticipate."

I stare at him intently, unsure of the ulterior meaning of that remark. He notices my glare and asks, "Wot?"

"Ya don't wont Jemima to practice? You wont 'er to lose—dat's wot ya wont?"

He looks at me for a moment or so, then walks ahead and says, "So dese Games ahe changin' ya, too, ahen't they?"

"Wot do ya mean?" I hiss back, outraged by his accusation.

"'onestley Oi feel quoite offended dat ya don't trust me."

"_Mungojerrie_." I hang the weapons around my body and catch up to him. "Dat's not wot Oi said!"

"But ain't it wot ya meant?"

_Is it?_ I ask myself. _Am Oi tuhnin' into a monstah? Loike Alonzo an' Jennyanydots?_

"Sorrey."

"'ey, it's olroight."

Neither one of us says anything more after that. Mungojerrie leads the way as we meander through the junkyard, keenly searching for mice and rats. I slowly trudge behind him, feeling nervous about leaving Jemima on her own for this long. What if she doesn't have enough food? Or if she's attacked? My little sister won't be able to defend herself.

The calico tom turns around and impatiently waits for me to catch up. "You'he worried abou' youh sis, ahen't ya?"

"Well, yes. 'ow can Oi not?"

"Rumpleteazah, Jemima is at Macavity's foh most of the day whoile doin' 'er duties, an' ya ahen't olways thehe to cahe foh 'er."

"Yes, but Oi check up on 'er from toime to toime. Oi should be gettin' back."

"No." He grabs my arm and pulls me back towards him. "Breakfast fihst. An' then ya can go an' train."

I jerk my arm out of his grip and unwillingly trail behind. As the minutes pass, Mungojerrie's confident strides turn into lazy scuffs. His paw is often being found tangled up with his headfur, unsure if this unproductive search for food should be aborted or not.

"We should seahch the perimetah," I speak up, "of the junkyahd."

"Woy thehe?"

"The fohce field Macavity set up. It electrocutes anyfin' dat troies to pass the boundaries of the junkyahd. Thehe moight 'ave been somefin' dat troied to escape—somefin' we can eat."

Mungojerrie ponders this for a moment, then nods his head and motions for me to hurry up. I drag my hind paws over to Jerrie and walk alongside him while always keeping an eye out for game. Tired of looking for something I will probably never find, I throw my head back with a quiet groan and squint at the sun making its full appearance in the sky. The heat helps diminish the dampness of the ground, making it more likely for a small animal to come out of its shelter to sunbathe.

"Ow!" I yelp, bumping into Jerrie, who has come to an abrupt stop.

"Teazah, thehe's nuffin' here," he says, and my heart sinks a little.

"Nuffin'?" I look down the length of the chain-link fence. "Not even a squirrel? No pigeon?"

"Sorrey, Teaze."

I stop my frantic and desperate search and glance over at Mungojerrie. He's staying strong on the outside, but I can tell his inner self is sulking. It is almost certain now that the tom will not be having a breakfast or lunch today. As for me on the other paw…Why, I must have mice to spare after the theiving yesterday.

"Breakfast at me den?"

Mungojerrie turns his head to face me, his brow furrowed.

"Jem an' Oi 'ave enough moice to last us a day," I tell him. "We ahe willin' to shahe wif friends."

That last word makes his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Oi…If ya don't moind…"

I take a deep breath before answering, unsure whether I actually mind or not. We barely picked up enough mice for two felines, let alone three. _Don't be a Jennyanydots, _I think, then mentally smack myself silly for being so selfish. "No, not at oll. Maybe aftahwahds we can oll go an'—" The faint sound of a crunching leaf is heard behind the tiger-striped tom. He raises his eyebrows again, urging me to continue. "You an' Jem an' Oi—" A small, grey blob appears behind Jerrie. I narrow my eyes at the lively, little thing. As it silently hops closer to Jerrie's hind paw, I can see the long hairs in detail and its bright, black eyes. _A hare_.

Hares are rare finds these days, due to Macavity's love of them. They used to be something I would catch nearly every day for the Hidden Paw to feast on, but now that the hare and rabbit population has declined, I am stuck to birds and mice. Now and then a bunny will stumble by, but the only things that will dig into its flesh are the sharp fangs of that ginger tom.

The furry animal I see before me right now is like a gift from the Everlasting Cat. That hare alone could last me two days at the most.

"Jerrie," I say, slowly extracting an arrow from my quiver. "Don't…move."

"Whoa, Teazah. Is it somefin' Oi said? No need to get voilent 'ere," Jerrie responds, putting his paws up in surrender mode once I have drawn back the arrow and pointed it dangerously close to him.

"Jerrie…stay qoiet…"

He gulps, then says, "Thehe's somefin' be'oind me, ain't thehe?"

I nod and target the clueless hare, which is simply plopped on the ground as its ears dance playfully in a floppy fashion.

"Don't move," I order both Mungojerrie and the prey.

"Teazah, jus' tell me wot's be'oind me," he says with a barely noticeable tremble in his voice.

"It's…" I close one eye and take aim. "…a 'are."

Jerrie immediately bursts out laughing, making the hare dart away behind a heap of junk.

"Jerrie!" I scold. "Look wot ya've done! Oi told ya not to make aney noise!"

"Ya 'ad me froightened foh a second thehe, Teazah," he says between chortles. "Oi wos expectin' somefin' mohe terrifoiyin' loike…oh, I don't know…a beah? Cehtainley not a wee rabbit!"

I march up to him and give him a good smack on the arm. "Dat 'wee rabbit' could've fed two cats, Jerrie! Woy did ya 'ave to scahe it off? Oi told ya not to move or make a sound!"

"Take it easey, Rumpleteazah," Mungojerrie says, placing his paws on my shoulders. "Look, the lil fing is probabley jus' be'oind dat junkpoile." He cocks his head towards the massive heap of junk the hare leapt behind. We noislessly step towards it and peek out from the edge of the junkpile. And sure enough, the hare has calmed down and is now peacefully sitting on the dirt ground. Mungojerrie elbows me and whispers, "Shh, stay qoiet."

"You'he the onley one tolkin'!"

"Shush!"

I discreetly scowl at him before turning my attention back on the hare. Its ears are perked up, as are mine. A scamper to the left, a hop to the right, and then it remains stock still, its beady eyes not daring to close. The hare takes a few more tiny leaps before ripping out a weed from the ground and chewing on it.

Mungojerrie nudges me with his elbow. I take that as a cue to nock my arrow and pull it back as silently as possible. The hare's nose twitches wildly as it nibbles on the piece of weed. If I aim inaccurately, that hare will be gone for good.

Jerrie hisses, "'urrey, or else it'll get away."

I gulp and press the bowstring against my cheek, trying to get a good vision of where the arrow will be heading for. I don't even bother to take a deep breath before I release the arrow.

The instant I let go, I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid of the sight I may see—either freshly killed meat or an arrow stuck to a patch of dirt. A short, high-pitched squeal pierces the air, and a smile creeps its way across my face.

I don't open my eyes until I feel Jerrie's heavy paw on my shoulder again. "Noice shootin', Teaze."

We both laugh in delight at our capture. I run to the dead hare and yank out the arrow from its body. Mungojerrie grins at me, and I beam back. "Jerrie," I start, "You should keep the meat foh youhself."

After some hesitation, he replies, "Foine, but Oi onley need 'alf. You an' Jemima can 'ave the rest." We sit down on a patch of weeds and begin dividing the dead hare into portions. He rips off the leg, letting the hare's blood gush out and rain down onto the ground. We felines don't pay attention to that part though—our eyes are too busy locked on the raw, succulent meat. I tear out the other hind leg and clink bones with Jerrie as a mock toast.

"To the Jellicle Games," he says jeeringly in his best impression of Macavity's voice.

I roll my eyes and take a bite out of the leg. "_An' may the odds be evah in youh favah_," I mutter through a mouthful.

He chuckles. "Oi can't fink of a mohe appropriate catchphrase. 'ow'd ya fink up of dat one?" I shrug roll my eyes once more before taking another bite from the mouthwatering meat. Before I have even swallowed that piece, I hurriedly take another mouthful of the hare's leg. I rotate the bone and snatch at the remaining white meat like a vicious tiger.

"Slow down! You'he getting' Claret oll ova youh chin!"

I shoot a glare at the tom beside me. "Well, _pahdon me_. Oi 'aven't eaten foh abou' twewve 'ours now; Oi don't 'ave the Nickel an' Doime foh pehfectin' table mannahs," I respond, wiping the blood off on my arm. The bold, red color stains my orange coat, and I can't help but frown as I stare at it.

"Wot's the mattah?" Mungojerrie asks as he chews ravenously on the meat.

My eyebrows knit together as I mumble, "Me Cholk Fahm…" Although it is not my Claret, the color is the same and gives the illusion that my very own blood is seeping through my skin. I shake the vision out of my head along with the thought of the Jellicle Games. "N-Nuffin'…"

"Don't tell me you'he afraid of blood now, Teazah," Jerrie sneers at me before taking yet another bite.

"Oi'm not. Oi'm jus' afraid of _seein' _blood—me own. Don't ya remembah wot Macavity said last mohnin'?"

"Somefin' abou' a bloodbaf," he answers without much thought, too focused on the tasty meal before him.

I eye him suspiciously. "Woy don't ya seem afraid?"

"Of the Jellicle Games?" I nod. "Maybe because Oi'd ravah not fink abou' it. Foightin' the membahs of me troibe ain't a topic of convahsation Oi particularley wont to tolk abou'. If Oi fink abou' it less, Oi'll worrey abou' it less."

"Oi jus' don't see 'ow ya cannot fink abou' it…" I say. But perhaps that has been my tactic for dealing with it all along…

After Mungojerrie swallows the last of the hare's leg, he breaks the head off the small mammal's body and tosses it into the air like a baseball. "Dis is oll Oi need. It should last me the rest of the day. Once you'he readey, we can drop off the remaindahs of dis rabbit at youh den an' go do some trainin', yeah?"

I wipe my mouth with my arm once last time and rub the blood off as thoroughly as I can. "Oll roight, then. Ya got a weapon?"

"Macavity left me twin broadswohds. Oi've used dem befohe at 'is wahe'ouse," he replies, lobbing the hare's head back up into the air and catching it before it hits the ground. "They'he back at me den. It's on the way back to youh place. Oi'll pick it up on the way."

I nod and stand up on my hind paws. I take the decapitated hare from him and start our trek to his den. Mungojerrie's closest neighbors would be the psychic twins, Coricopat and Tantomile. Oftentimes they are not found in the clearing, and if they are, they would be meditating on top of the great tire or communicating with each other mentally. Judging by the sudden eerie atmosphere we are entering, I can tell we are nearing their den. Soon enough, an odd yet cozy-looking den comes into view among the many mountains of junk.

"Cori an' Tanto's 'ome," Mungojerrie says, gesturing towards the den with his head.

"'ave ya 'eahd from dem recentley?" I inquire.

He shakes his head. "Nope."

I stretch my neck out and squint at the entrance of the den. "Wot do ya fink they've been doin' oll dis toime?"

Jerrie shrugs. "Oi don't know. Somefin' weihd, probabley."

As we pass by the den, I twist my neck back and slow down the pace, then peek inside the home of the mysterious psychics. Inside, it is utterly gloomy. Even though it is only past noon, there is a strange sense of darkness in the den. I stop for a second and take a step closer to the den. As I slowly approach the den, I can almost feel the silence pervading the air. The quiteness adds to the spookiness of it all—the kind of stillness where the sound of a pin clanging on the floor is like a bomb being detonated. I catch sight of several short, stumpy candles, which are placed here and there. The flickering flames form shadows on the ceilings and walls, which only blend in with the dark. The most peculiar aspect of the scene before me, however, are the brown- and cream-colored cats sitting on the ground in the den, paws connected and—as far as I know—eyelids locked in place. Nearly everything seems to be moving more than they are—even the lifeless books scattered across the room are more lively than those two.

Jerrie quickly pulls me away from Cori and Tanto's den and continues our walk.

"Wot do ya fink they'he doin'?" I ask again in a hushed tone, even though we are far enough from the twins that they won't hear us.

"'o knows? Now 'urry; we still 'ave to get to Jemima, remembah?"

I allow him to tug me away, but I keep my eyes glued to the entrance of the den. The twins' mystic ways never bothered me as much as it does right now.

"'ere we ahe," Mungojerrie says just minutes later. I step inside the small den and look around with a raised eyebrow.

"It looks different," I remark, walking up to a wooden table and examining the size of it. "Wot did ya do?"

"Ah, no, dis is me new 'ome. Macavity buhned me ovah den." He inhales deeply. "Oi didn't show up foh wohk."

"So Macavity destroyed youh 'ome jus' because ya didn't snatch 'im catnip foh a day? Wot koind of pollicle does 'e fink 'e is?" I tsk.

Jerrie rolls his eyes with a sigh and goes over to his tiny, dilapidated kitchen. "Watah?" he offers.

"Yes, please," I answer. "If ya 'ave enough, dat is."

He disappears into a corner before the sound of rushing water is heard. "It's no trouble." Jerrie hands me a mug with the handle already broken off. I sit down on a stool and quietly begin sipping.

"Whehe ahe youh swohds?" I ask a little timidly.

He jerks his chin upwards. "Be'oind ya against the wall."

I turn around and bite my lip at the broadswords leaning against the wall, their blades crossing to make an "X" shape. Each edge has been sharpened to a neat point, making it easy to puncture your enemy with one swift thrust.

"Ahe ya…good wif dem?" I inquire with a gulp.

"Good enough," he simply responds.

I set the mug on the table and stare down at my lap. "Good enough…to win?"

He sits across from me with his own cup of water. "Dat's not wot Oi meant."

I nod, ashamed of my numerous accusations towards him. "Should we go get Jemima now?" I say as I stand up from my seat.

"Actualley, Teazah," Mungojerrie starts, grabbing my arm, "let youh sistah rest foh the day. She mus' be Cream Crackehed."

"But Mac is goin' to evaluate 'er tomorrow. She needs to be readey," I explain as I march out of the den. Mungojerrie chases after me, grabbing his broadswords on the way. I take note of how he left the remainders of the hare in his den, but I will myself into not reproaching him again.

"C'mon, Teaze. We can train togevah. Just you an' me. Loike ol' toimes."

_Loike ol' toimes_. So Jerrie really does miss the days we hung out together. I halt and turn to face him. A small smile glides across my face and encourages him to beam back. Together we sprint back to my usual training ground. Once we reach there, I take out a clean arrow from my quiver and begin to nock it.

"Wait," Mungojerrie stops me. "Troiy somefin' different today." He places my bow down and curls my paw around the handle of a sword.

"Now everey toime ya see the swohd chahgin' at ya," Mungojerrie instructs, "block it wif youh own."

"But Oi don't know 'ow to do d—AHH!" The second I see the silvery point heading towards my shoulder, I instinctively hold up my sword and let it clash with Jerrie's. "Jerrie, wot wos dat fo—Eeek!" I quickly defend myself again once I see the sword desperately making its wait to my stomach. "Jerrie! Quit i—" I am cut off again as I quickly jump back to avoid Mungojerrie's swipe at my feet. I growl and strike back in a rather mediocre fashion.

"You'he 'oldin' it oll wrong," Jerrie comments.

I roll my eyes. "Probabley because O've nevah used a swohd befohe!" I grumble.

"You'he paw is too down low. Grip it toightly at the middle of the 'andle." He unfurls my fingers and repositions them at the right spot. "Remembah to keep youh knuckles aloigned wif the edge of the blade."

In a split-second, Jerrie drives the sword at me again. I squeak and jump back before cautiously sticking out my arm to block it. The calico tom chuckles and lunges towards me again. I wave his sword away and quickly prepare for his next hasty attack.

I suddenly find myself caught up in the training session. Thoughts of Jemima being alone soon cower into the back of mind as I concentrate on new focuses. After nearly three hours of swordfighting and archery, I collapse on the ground and close my eyes, utterly exhausted. Jerrie picks me up in a cradling fashion, slings my weapons over his shoulder, and carries his sheathed swords in his already full paw. Nevertheless, I keep my eyes shut and make myself comfortable in his arms. Too Cream Crackered to question Mungojerrie about anything, I find myself quickly drowning in the world of Peaceful Sleep—a planet I haven't been to in five whole months.

* * *

**I hope that last sentence made sense...it's a metaphor...I think xD haha.**

**How was it? And exactly what's going on with Cori and Tanto...? Questions, comments, and critique are all welcome in a review! :)**

**Wait...Can hares even be found at junkyards? ...I dunno *shrug***

**Thank you again to all my readers who have patiently waited for each chapter to come. You guys rock! ;D**

**Thanks for reading! Next chapter we'll be having Macavity evaluate each Jellicle! Please drop a review and stay tuned for more! **


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